Survival
by madwizard97
Summary: He is not the hero. He is not the vault dweller or courier. Rawley is just another wastlander hoping for another day to live. But in the bleak, dark world, there is no mercy.
1. Prologue

Prologue

It was cool again. They didn't know how it was possible, but it was. The air full of radiation and toxic fumes, was chilly, and made the expedition team cling tight to their clothes. The cold breezes moved the dust, it seriously affected their eyesight. But it didn't matter. The station was already visible.

Lucas, the expeditions senior medical advisor, was walking in the group with Brock, a computer engineer. They were a part of a great expedition formed in California by the leaders of the NCR. They numbered two hundred, comprised of the best minds the nucluar war devasted country had ever seen. Scientists, docters, engineers, and the like, with the best commandos and mercenaries to guard them. Now Lucas looked sadly at the group. They numbered at most fifty, many lost in the road, due to sickness, radiaton, desertion, but most of all, death. The road was long and full of terrors that plagued them. Mutants and ghouls, mindlessly attacking, raiders and bandits hoping for a profit, and desperate wastlanders forced to attack with the thought of selling their equipment to feed their families. All took their toll on the expedition. Lucas's predessasor himself was killed by a raider junkie, cut his throat while he slept, all for the meds they protected. Lucas was next best experienced so he was given the rank.

Their mission was impossible to a rational mans eye. In california people were given the idea that there was a a station of intact nucluer warheads, missiles that would be capable of destroying all the known mutant bases, ghoul lairs, and raider nests. The people would be immensly relived the stress that they would die by a bullet, would go away. Of course there would still be the threat of starvation, hydration, sickness, radiation, mutated animals and unknown evils that would not be destroyed by the weapons, but it would still be a victory, reinforcing the hope in the peoples hearts, once lost.

The expedition would complete it's goal. It was formed for bringing back this hope, by bringing something else, death. They would all find this station or go home ashamed, forced to look upon the peoples eyes they let down. So they trudged on, and it bought them here.

They were in Florida, a few miles away from the ruins of the old NASA facility, the John F. Kennedy Space Center. Appearently before the war, nuclear warheads were moved here. They failed to sent them for some reason. They had seen the complex from afar, and decided to make camp. Jester, the commander of the soldiers and the one chiefly in charge expediton, was patrolling around with heavily armed men. They were the best the NCR had to offer. Commandos trained from the early age, mostly orphans taken by the government, all of them extremely fit and muscled, thanks to extensive training and bio-engineering. They were all armed with powerful and expensive weaponry, if sold, could probably feed a wastlanders family for a decade. Military grade rifles and shotguns, grenade and missile launchers, advanced laser weaponry that could turn a man into dust, without it they would be even 5 people alive, let alone 50.

Everyone was on alert. There was a bad smell in the air, and Lucas had a sense something bad was going to happen. He was right when the first shot came and Brock's head blew off his shoulders.

They were being attacked. Jester was yelling orders at his men and shouting for the civilans to run and take cover. All around people were dying. The attackers wore power armor, probably The Brotherhood of Steel, curse them. Jester had already killed half a dozen, but they were hundreds of them. The forces of Jester was a measly 20. But if they were going out, then they would be going out with a bang. Grenades and missiles were flying, everywhere power armored men had their body parts blown apart. They were shot, sliced, stabed, but they never stopped. One of Jester's men died, then another, untill they were down to half a dozen. Jester himself embtied his magazines precisely on them, 15 men had their lives taken by his bullets. After he ran out his bullets he pulled out his enormous machete and proceded to some more killing, chopping of a paladins head clean off. Finally he fell, around him 20 men, dead or dying.

Lucas was trying to find survivors or wounded to help. But everyone was dead. He pulled his revovler but he was shot the moment it was out. He fell down dying. His final thoughts were those of how humanity was vicious and full of bloodlust. How we always find something to fight over, while just fulfilling our inner sadism to kill. He also thought if the afterlife would be warm. It probably will.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1-

"Fuck the dirt" It was the biggest thing Rawley hated. More than all of the mutants, raiders and murderers put together. It was in his shoes, on his clothes, in his reddish brown hair. It was all over his body. He could kill for shower, but clean water was too precious to be bathed in, and radiated water would turn him into a clean corpse.

He took off his shoes to get out the dirt, and looked outside. He was in Florida, ruins of Clearwater. The buildings were rubble, the roads were collapsed, everything was a mess. Nature was taking it back. Swamps were poping up everywhere, and Florida after 200 years still was the gator state. Huge, radiated alligators roamed the swamps, and when they were hungry they went into the city. Rawley was hungry, but he wouldnt dare hunt one with only 4 bullets in his revolver.

He took shelter in a cave for the night, but it was time to move out. He put all of his possesions in a dirty duffel bag. A small blanket, a lighter, a pre-war map, goggles, a canteen half full of water, and a small bag of assorted rations and snack foods. He straped his revolver to his belt, and put a rusty switchblade in his shoes.

Rawley was in Florida the reason he was still living. Food. He got a job at Alabama, escorting a trade caravan heading to Florida. He was starving and needed the caps to buy food. After the job he was payed enough to buy what would last him a few weeks. That was 1 month ago.

Now he needed to get moving and find some sort of town where he could get a job. He looked at his map but it only showed places before the war when the missiles hit. Now everything was different, places where changed, roads old. He would have to explore and find something on his own.

He stepped out of the entrance and trudged into an old road. He looked around while he was moving. Old collapsed buldings with nearly no colour, they used to be so high and mighty. They say some used to pierce the sky. He wondered why men like him, needed buldings so big. Maybe humanity was made of giants before the war, but then turned smaller. He shaked his head at such silly things and continued on.

The Sun was not entirely visible behind the wall of radiation clouds, but it was hot and unforgiving all the same. In the nights it would be cold and breezy. Even the weather was mutated because of the war.

He was looking at an interesting billboard with a women on it when all of a sudden a bullet was shot. The shell came near his leg. He pulled out his revolver and crouched behind a car. He slowly looked around to see his attackers.

One man, with a dirty hoodie and scarf covering half of his face was shooting at him. He was hiding behind a tall pillar of a ruined bulding. When he saw Rawley's head, he shot once more. It nearly took out his ear, and blew out the headlights of the car. Rawley looked from the other side of the car this time. His attacker wasnt looking this way and was reloading his pistol.

Rawley took advantage over the situation. He moved from behing the car to another one next to it. This one was directly in front of where his attacker would come out from. The man came out slowly and when he did Rawley shot him. He hit his leg, causing him to scream in pain. He came close to him and before he could react, shot him in the head. The man collapsed into a lifeless corpse.

Rawley walked near him and looked him over. His clothes were patched and dirty, no use to him, and no value. He checked his pistol, it was old and used, 3 bullets left, but still a pistol. He put it into his duffel bag. He searched the man. On him he found 8 bottle caps, a pack of ciggaretes, and a nice compass. He also took his scarf, while a little bleady, would be nice in the cold nights. His boots looked good too, leather. Better than the shoes he wore. He pulled the boots out of the mans feet and faced the stink that came out. He took off his own shoes and replaced them with the boots. He gave one last look at the man. Black haired, big nosed, in his thirties by the looks of him. Must be just another poor wastlander looking for stuff to sell and live another day.

"Well, atleast I'LL live for a few more days. Thanks stranger."

He walked away from the body and moved on.


	3. Chapter 2

"When He opened the second seal,

I heard the second living creature saying,

'Come and see.'

Another horse, fiery red, went out.

And it was granted to the one who sat on it

to take peace from the Earth,

and that people should kill one another;

and there was given to him a great sword."

(Revelation 6:3-4)

Chapter 2-

_Are you finding trouble at earning caps? İs finding food for your family a nearly impossible task? Then come on here to New Tampa. We, the_ _representatives of the New California Republic are offering you a job to fulfill all your human needs. We are essembling an excavation team and we need YOU to help is in our goal. You will be given plenty of bottle caps, fed well, and have the biggest luxury of earning a sense of duty. Help carve out a future in the World._

Pay will change according to position.

- The New California Republic

Rawley had been reading the pamphlet over and over. He had found it in the boots of the wastlander that had attacked him. A small, yellow piece of paper. On it were these words, a man giving a thumbs up sign, and a printed emblem of a two-headed bear. On the back was a small map showing where New Tampa was.

He thought about, and decided he would go to New Tampa and look this matter up. İf it is like they say, then it would be easy caps, and a few more days without an empty belly. He folded the piece of paper and put it into a pocket in his jacket.

Walking on, Rawley did something he usually does, and reflected on his past life.  
He was a wastlander...obviously. Born to a hunter father and a mother that died when he was three, Rawley had a hard childhood. Well, every child in the Wasteland has a hard childhood, but Rawley's was a little bit worse than most.

After his mother died, Rawley's father used all the caps he made from sold animal parts, for drinking. Because of this drinking, Rawley was frequently the victim of drunken beatings and tear filled confessions.

Because of his fathers being useless, Rawley had to bring the food to the table. He learned to hunt by watching his father when he was in the rare state of sober, and stealed when killed beasts werent enough. He would bust in to houses, using his small, agile child body, Rawley would sell the things he had stolen to passing merchants.

His father was well aware of the stealing. When drunk, he would sometimes beat Rawley for doing it. But knowing that without him they would both die, he wouldnt say anything, and sometimes cry to him about it when deep in the drink.  
"I'm sorry son" He would say. "I'm sorry I'm such a big useless piece of shit."

Rawley wouldnt say anything. We wouldnt say anything when he beat him, when he yelled at him, when he hugged him...he would just look, look at the man who was the cause of his birth. Look at him, and simply not care.

_The reason I put up with him, _He would say to himself, _is because if I don't have an adult with me, I'll be easy prey. _Weather this was true, or if Rawley truly cared for his dad is a mystery, locked deep in a part of him.

His father died when he was 15, probably because of all the drinking. He buried him in an old distillary, it was fitting. He even buried a few bottles of whiskey with him, just if he wanted to continou yelling and swimming in his own vomit in hell.

Rawley himself, a strong, tall youth, his head a mess of brown hair with a tint of red to it, didnt have a hard time finding jobs. He was good at using guns, tough from all the beatings he got as a child, and knew how to hunt and look after himself. He worked as a caravan guard and mercenary when he could find a job, when he couldnt, he would hunt and salvage parts to sell.

This worked for years, now Rawley, a hard man of 29, nearly middle age by wasteland standards, now found himself in Florida.

It went dark in a few Hours. He set up camp under an old bridge. His food supply was dwindilling. If he doesnt get to this New Tampa place fast, its going to be Hell.


	4. Chapter 3

"This is the way the world ends  
Not with a bang but a whimper."  
- T.S. Eliot

Chapter 3-

After another night of uncomfortable sleep and aching back, Rawley found himself on the road again, heading to New Tampa.

After checking the map, he saw that he was close to this New Tampa place. He didnt know what kind of town this was, he was new to Florida. _If it has its own printing press, then maybe its not that bad._

He trudged on...and then stopped. He quickly moved to shelter behind a broken down SUV. Ahead of him were a group of raiders surrounding a family. The family, consisting of a man, probably about forty, a young, blonde women and a small boy. The man was saying something to their leader, and holding out caps in his hand.

The leader of the raiders, a giant man with a shaved head, broken nose and a necklace of disgusting body parts, looked down at the mans hand, smiled, and cut it off with a huge meat cleaver. The man yelled horribly in pain and collapsed to the floor, losing blood.

The leader then proceded to the young women. He put one hand on her head by the hair, and with the other he tore of her clothes. The women screamed and begged, crying because of the humiliation and the suffering of the still bleeding man. The small boy was just looking at his, presumibly mother, with tears in his eyes. The leader started to rape her, viciously, and the other raiders forced the bleeding man to watch.

The man himself was crying, telling them to stop. After seeing it was no use, cursed and yelled at them, kicked away one of his attackers, and charged at the leader. Before he could get to him however, one ot the raiders threw a knife right at his neck. He fell down, dead.

The leader finished it with the women, and pushed her to the ground. Then the other raiders had their way with her. While this was all happening, Rawley was watching with dead, hopeless eyes. He was doing what any sane wastelander would do. Not İnterfere. Maybe once these things bothered him, and he hated himself when he could do nothing, but he was too used to it now. It didnt affect him as before.

After the raiders were done with the women, they cut her to death. When she was finished they started moving towards the boy. Rawley turned his eyes away. He closed his eyes, and started to think of other things. He tried to remember the way his father would smell of drink, the days when he stood in bushes for hours when he had to hunt. It didnt work when the boys screams came ringing in his ears. He closed his ears, and tried to hum to himself, just so he couldnt hear the child. He layed there for God knows how long.

After some time he got up. He started walking down the road. When he passed the family he never turned and looked, he didnt even check their pssesions. He just needed to get away. He walked and walked, without caring if he was getting close to New Tampa or not. He didnt even keep his guard up. He just walked in a dazed way.

He walked, untill he came across it. The city was something else. Walled around a big plaza of buildings, it looked nice with the lamps glowing in the night. But Rawley didnt care. He wouldnt care if a giant monkey shat on him that moment.

He thought going in the city in the day would be better, so he set up camp. He couldnt sleep, the small boys screams haunted him in the night.


	5. Chapter 4

"He walked out in the gray light and stood and he saw for a brief moment the absolute truth of the world. The cold relentless circling of the intestate earth. Darkness implacable. The blind dogs of the sun in their running. The crushing black vacuum of the universe. And somewhere two hunted animals trembling like ground-foxes in their cover. Borrowed time and borrowed world and borrowed eyes with which to sorrow it."  
- Cormac McCarthy, The Road

Chapter 4-

The etherel shadows, covering the earth with their darkness. Suffucation for its denizens. They brought black fire, devestation, death. Green poisen was left behind them.

Rawley was running. But he could not hope to live. They were coming. He felt the touch of death when the wisps of armageddon touched him.

"NO! GET AWAY FROM ME! GET AWAY!"

He woke up...

This had been happening him througout his whole life. Dreams...nightmares to be exact, plaguing him since around the time his father had died. In the dreams he felt at peace...at first. The world was not ravaged, there was no war, no mutants, bandits, rapists...just peaceful air. Then he felt it. Like an explosion it went throughout his body, a hopelesness, despair. Shadows would fall on his perfect world. Then they would chase him, and he would be reminded of the things the shadows symbolised. The men that he saw...the ones that did bad things, the ones he saw rape and  
kill, the ones he shot. He saw the faces of the innocents, of the children, the very ones he saw die on his travels.

He would see others too. He would see his father, sobered up and watching around with his rifle, as if still hunting. He would see his mother, even though he didnt remember her well, he knew the pretty young women with the freckled face was the person that had given birth to him. He saw his past aquantinces, caravan guards and merchants, mercs that he had teamed on occasion, but never a friend. He didnt have friends. If friendship was hard to form before the Great War, it was harder still in the apocalypse. Besides, Rawley wasnt a friend type of guy. He was a drifter, a loner that cared about survival since his birth, the only thing he cared about.

He didnt like being reminded of all these things, he hated the dreams and everything they brought with them. He wiped the sweat on his brow and gathered his belongings. After he was done packing his gear, he glanced at the metal gates of New Tampa and set out.

**Sorry for the short chapter, its been a while since I wrote about his story, I'm slowly coming back to it. Feel free to critisize and review, thank you.**


End file.
